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Letter From America: Farewell To Corrie

...There are times when it is time to part company, and these days Coronation Street is a closed book. I know it is not the programme of Ena Sharples, Minnie Caldwell, Len Fairclough, Emily Nugent, Mr Papadopoulos, and all the former inhabitants of the old Coronation Street that reflected life in the North of England in better, more decent, and more community-spirited times. I know that times, communities, and nations change, but must it always head downhill?...

Ronnie Bray says a sad farewell to Coronation Street, his favourite TV programme.

Coronation Street is one of the many television shows that are not shown in the USA. They are shown in Canada but when we lived about forty or so miles south of the Northern US border our satellite company did not offer Canadian programming, and so it was goodbye to all that.

I found a place on the Internet whose little army of volunteers kept far-flung fans of the programme au fait with developments and for some years I was content. I remained content and happy to be keeping up with the Ogdens, the Battersby’s, and Ken Barlow, etc, until the reports began to use bad language.

I complained to the overseer and the language stopped, but a year later an influx of new and younger reviewers saw the language become even worse than it had been before. It was at that time I decided that Corrie and I must go our separate ways. Keeping a favourite for old times’ sake is one thing, but having to suffer foul language to do so is a price not worth paying.

There are times when it is time to part company, and these days Coronation Street is a closed book. I know it is not the programme of Ena Sharples, Minnie Caldwell, Len Fairclough, Emily Nugent, Mr Papadopoulos, and all the former inhabitants of the old Coronation Street that reflected life in the North of England in better, more decent, and more community-spirited times. I know that times, communities, and nations change, but must it always head downhill?

I miss Corrie. I miss the gentle banter, the likeable ne’er-do-wells, the idlers like Stan Ogden, the non-singers that sang, like Hilda ‘The hills are alive’ Ogden, the brassy mind-your-business of Rita Tanner-Fairclough, and the nosy-parkers that rented the snug in the Rovers Return with hearts of gold that were always there when folks fell on hard times.

I miss Len’s lad, Jerry, who started every sentence with, "But, Mr Furrkluff … " the upside down ducks and the ‘Muriel’ on the Ogdens wall.

The good folks were very good, and the bad folks weren’t all that bad, but whether good or bad they all came together when someone was down on their luck, and even the irascible Mrs Sharples proves that her rough exterior hid a golden heart.

And so it is with sadness that I look back on Corrie, and with equal sadness that I do not look forwards to any more of it. So, goodbye, Corrie; goodbye all you fascinating earthy but warm people that populated it and warmed and cheered my folksy hearts for years. You are all greatly missed and life will never be the same again.
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